Hemorrhage
by AppleJackDaniels
Summary: Inspired by the tumblr post "CS AU: Killian is told about Emma's accident." After a long day at work, Killian returns to an empty house and a devastating phone call that turns his world upside down.


_**A/N**: So this was inspired by a tragically beautiful tumblr gifset with the caption "Killian is told about Emma's accident." And really, it was a story begging to be written, and since I couldn't find one, I decided to write my own. I couldn't let this opportunity go to waste and my mind was running wild with little ficlet ideas._

_Not sure if I want to keep this as a one-shot or if I should keep going (I have a vague idea for future chapters) so just let me know what you all think! Yes, no, maybe so?_

_Anyway, I wrote this at 2 in the morning and its unbetaed for please forgive any spelling or grammatical mistakes. _

_Enjoy :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I do not OUaT or its characters. ABC owns all. I just play in their sandbox._

* * *

Killian's footsteps fell heavy and loud as he trudged up the porch stairs, legs moving sluggishly from the exhaustion of another laborious day at the docks. Running a hand over his face, his stubble scratched lightly against his palms, reminding him of his need to shave, and he fiddled with his key for several painfully long moments before finally fitting it into the lock. Leaning his shoulder against the frame, he slowly turned the knob and opened the door, dragging his weary body through the entrance, stumbling into the dark shadows of the house.

His hand blindly searched for the light switch, ears buzzing with the deafening silence that loomed over his home, bereft of the familiar sounds of life and family. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the inky blackness, he watched as the shadows danced at his feet, his silhouette obscuring the shimmering gleam of moonlight as it poured through the doorway.

"Sorry I'm late, love. Bloody wankers arrived with a last minute shipment that needed immediate transport onto the railcar," he groused darkly as his fingers finally found the cool plastic switch. Flicking it on, the light sputtered to life, flickering slightly as it cast an ominous hue on the room, illuminating the peculiar barrenness of the hallway. Ears prickling with sensation, he listened attentively for the distant shuffling of feet, a muffled voice calling out to him in response.

"Emma?" he questioned the emptiness, head tilting to the side as he carefully shut the door and shrugged out of his jacket, the movement almost proving too tedious for his fatigued body to contend with. "Henry?"

He ambled to the living space, eyes quickly scanning over the room, flitting to the couch to see if she'd fallen asleep while waiting for him. A small frown marred his face upon finding it empty and he snubbed the strange sense of foreboding that blossomed in his gut, shrugging it off as he consoled himself with the thought that she simply must've turned in earlier than usual. Wandering to the kitchen, Killian wrenched the door to the fridge open and leaned in as an unwelcome wave of chilled air spilled out and blanketed his face, sending a slight shiver down his spine. Fingers wrapping around the nearest bottle of beer, he deftly screwed off the cap and took a long swig, shutting the door with a jut of his hip.

A flash of yellow paper caught his attention, and Killian wiped the excess moisture off his lips with the back of his hand with a sated sigh, peering closer at the note. Plucking it from its position on the fridge, his blue gaze scanned over the hastily scrawled note:

_Got a call from the station – looks like I'll be pulling an all-nighter at the office again. Henry's at my parents' house. There's leftover rigatoni in the fridge. Feel free to help yourself._

_I love you.  
Emma _

He hummed to himself, musing over her letter, mentally chastising her superiors for the long hours they demanded she put into work. If Killian didn't know better, he'd swear that Emma was the only police officer on the entire force – surely there was someone _else _they could have called upon, just this once.

It'd been _weeks _since he'd had the opportunity to take her out on a proper date, a problem that Killian had every intention on remedying. Their schedules always seemed to conflict as of late, and between the stress of the long days and the ill-effects of sleep deprivation, it was beginning to put a strain on their relationship.

He missed her, missed _them._

Grumbling with irritation, he staggered to the couch, tripping over his own feet as he lazily fell onto the soft, welcoming cushions, slumping into their comforting embrace with an exhausted sigh. He grabbed the remote and powered on the TV as he rested his feet on the coffee table, mindlessly surfing the channels before settling on the late night news, watching with disinterested, unseeing eyes as a broadcast about some horrific traffic accident played on the screen.

Taking another long drink of his beer, he toyed over several date ideas, wanting to take Emma out for a long overdue night of fun and relaxation, doting upon her to revive their spark, to let her know how much he truly appreciated and loved her. He smiled to himself as he finally settled on a decision, already imagining the smile that would light up her face, the love and affection that would sparkle in her eyes.

For their first date, he'd taken her out on his boat, reveling in the warmth and excitement of a budding relationship, jubilant and intoxicating in its infancy. She'd always loved going out to sea with him – the calm and serenity of simply being _alone_, the chaos of life muted, replaced with the harmonic melody of water splashing against the side of the _Jolly Roger _ as they skipped across the waves. Emma had looked so lovely that day, carefree smile teasing at her lips, eyes closed with ecstasy as she hung her head back, basking in the beauty and tranquility of nature. It was in that moment that he fell in love with her, that shining moment when she finally lowered her walls, let herself relax and let _go, _the radiance of her inner beauty shining through the carefully construed veil of stoicism that she always seemed to wear.

Eyelids drooping as sleep threatened to overcome him, Killian's head slumped towards his chest when his phone buzzed in his pocket, the ringtone playing at a disturbing volume, and he jolted at the unexpected call, neck snapping up as the sound shocked him out of his stupor. With one eye closed, he peered at the clock, cursing to himself when he saw that it was nearly 1 in the morning.

Who in their right mind would call him at this inconceivable hour? Whoever disturbed him better have a bloody good reason for doing so.

Muttering a slew of obscenities, his fingers fished for his phone as he placed his beer on the coffee table, glancing at the unknown number that flashed on the screen.

"What?" he bit out harshly, rubbing a hand over tired eyes.

"Killian Jones?" an accented, trembling masculine voice questioned.

"Yes, this is he. And who the bloody hell are _you?"_

"My... my name is Graham Humbert. I-I'm Emma's Captain at the station." Killian's eyes shot open at the familiarity of the name, rage coursing through his body, blinding wrath fogging his brain and preventing him from registering the trepidation and wariness of the other man's voice, the nervousness and discomfort that nipped at the heels of his words.

"So _you're _bloody wanker who's called her into work during the dead of night! _Again. _Do you not realize the amount of stress you've put her under recently? I have half a mind to march down to the station and kick your ass," Killian's tone was dripping with loathing, hating the man who always stole his Emma away.

"Y-yes… that would be me," he admitted sheepishly, audibly clearing his throat as he tried to reorient his composure, his tone suddenly stern and serious. "Listen, Killian, I… You see, Emma… she… fucking hell…" his voice tapered off, the lingering silence filling Killian with a renewed sense of dread that hung heavily in his gut, twisting his stomach into tight knots, apprehension clutching his heart in a fierce grasp, causing a deep ache in his chest.

"Oh my fucking god, you useless waste of a man. Give me the fucking phone," a distant, muffled voice demanded, and Killian heard the faint buzz of shuffling as the phone moved hands. "Killian? It's Regina."

Running a worried hand through his hair, Killian massaged the base of his neck, heart pounding erratically in his chest. _Where the fuck was Emma?_ "I need to see Emma. Have you heard from her?"

He heard the faded sound of her shaky intake of breath, a slight quiver to her words as she spoke delicately to him, a softness that was unbecoming of the insufferable woman. Why Emma chose her as her partner would forever remain a mystery to him.

"Killian, she's... she's been in an accident."

Dizziness consumed him, the room violently spinning on its axis as the walls closed in on him, his vision tunneling to the TV, flashes of red and blue illuminating the screen, the hushed tone of the reporter telling of an "accident" and something about a "casualty".

_No._

"Wh-what did you just say?" he managed to croak, swallowing around the lump in his throat as devastating realization threatened to spill over him.

"Emma was on a call and was driving to the scene… But someone was in the road. She tried to swerve out of the way and she…" Regina's voice cracked, words faltering as they stumbled out of her mouth. "She lost control of the car."

Bringing his hand to his mouth, anxiously rubbing at his lips, his brow knit together with concern, terrified of the implications of Regina's words, refusing to look at the TV, adamant that the accident the man spoke of wasn't _her _accident. Emma was okay – she _had _to be – she wouldn't do this, she wouldn't leave him, _couldn't _leave him.

"Where is she? I need to see her; I need to see that she's okay," he winced at the near hysterics that threaded into his tone, an unfamiliar voice that rang in his ears, taunting him with yet unspoken truths that he refused to listen to. His fingers trembled as they clutched his phone, squeezing it so fiercely he feared it would break. And he almost wanted it to, wanted the fucking phone to cut out, to silence the conversation he undeniably did not want to have, to leave him in the ignorance of bliss, living in a world where Emma was sitting in front of her dimly lit desk, littered with reports and statements, pouring over her work as she gnawed on the end of her pen, pensive face scrunched as she tried to solve the latest mystery.

"I'm so sorry, Killian… but she… she didn't make it," Regina finally managed, her voice so quiet that he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, that he hadn't imagined it all. This was all some horrific nightmare, a demented figment of his imagination, torturing him with loss of the person he treasured above all else in this world.

Emma wasn't… _gone. _She couldn't be. It was all a dream – a nasty, wicked, horrendous dream – and he was apt to wake up at any moment, a silent cry tearing from his throat, sheets damp with cold sweet, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, Killian, I'm so very sorry," her voice broke, shattering as the weight of her words settled uneasily with them both, a devastating reality that neither was willing to accept.

Ears ringing at a deafening octave, her words grew distant and fuzzy, indiscernible in the haze of his confusion, his reluctance to accept what Regina had told him. His world came to a screeching halt in the blink of an eye, the whiplash kicking his feet out from under him as he slumped back against the couch.

"Killian?" he heard through the fog of denial and disbelief, and he quickly ended the call.

She was mistaken; she'd gotten it wrong – Emma hadn't been the one in the car, it couldn't be her death that played on the news. They were wrong, they _had _to be, because Emma couldn't die, she couldn't be dead, she wouldn't leave him, not like this, not when the last words he'd received from her were from a fucking _note. _

He was supposed to take her on a date, take her out on his boat and have a day on the sea; he hadn't even had the chance to tell her about it yet. He'd call her, yes, he'd call her and inform her of their newly planned date, and she'd be so happy, the smile in her voice evident as he regaled a fantastical tale of what he had in store for them, their own little getaway as he stole her away from the stress of everyday life, rejuvenating her spirit, restoring her smile, reviving her loving, caring, happy nature.

A violent shiver threatened to ravage his body as trembling, shaking fingers hit several buttons on his phone before he finally unlocked the screen and thumbed through his contacts until her name appeared. Pressing a frantic thumb on her name, he quickly brought the phone up to his ear, body buzzing with anticipation and anxiety as it rang once, twice, three times. She'd pick up, because she _had_ to pick up; she was just indisposed right now – hell, her phone was likely on silent, lost in the clutter on her desk, a nuisance she didn't want to deal with while she whittled away at her reports.

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*" _

"Hello, love, i-it's me. Look, I just got a call from your bloody stupid Captain and I swear, someone needs to give that wanker a swift boot in the ass," he paused, leg bouncing anxiously. "Where are you? Come home, darling. Please. I've a date planned for us – I want to take you out sailing again, like we did for our first date. Just… Emma, please, call me back. I love you." He fought to keep his voice steady, _oh _how he _fought _to prevent the tremble from wavering in his tone, words skipping as they fell from his lips, fraught with despairing hope.

He'd barely hung up before he dialed her again, convinced that _this _would be the time she answered, finally finding her phone amidst the chaos and disorder. Chewing impatiently at his thumbnail, hand shaking uncontrollably as the phone teetered in his wobbly clutch, he counted the rings. _One_… _two… three… four… five._

Damn that bloody fucking woman. She'd lose her own _head _if it wasn't attached to her body.

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*" _

"Please answer the phone, love. I… I'm worried about you. Just… call me back when you get this…" words failed him, his throat constricting around the swarm of emotion he warred against, refusing to fall victim to this ruse, this elaborate ploy that she'd been in an _accident. _Pressing the phone against his mouth, Killian's eyes screwed shut, staving off the heat of brimming tears as they stung at his eyes. His jaw trembling, teeth chattering, body shaking, he barely managed to whisper coherently, "I love you, Emma. Always, I'm yours."

Ending the call, his head fell into his hands, elbows digging painfully into his knees as his feet bobbed up and down on the floor, his nerves getting the better of him, feeling himself lose his grip on reality. He could feel himself going insane as the last vestiges of his stability frayed and snapped, his wild, untamed eyes desperately searching the room, seeking out some shred of comfort and solace, hoping the secret to his relief was etched on the walls, reassuring him that his Emma was okay, that she was fine, that there hadn't been an accident.

As he held the treacherous phone to his ear, the incessant rings haunted him with their dark, foreboding insinuations, his heart dropping further and further each time the sound played in his ears.

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*" _

Hanging up, he called again.

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*" _

Her voice echoed in his head, his entire world revolving around the beautiful sound as it lilted out of the speaker, driving him mad with the agonizing notion that it would the last time he heard her speak. Rage festered in him, white-hot wrath boiling his blood, scorching his veins as it pumped through his body, the ferocity of his refutation warping his sanity, twisting it into something dark and unrecognizable, his mind fracturing and splintering and breaking as it labored to deny the truth, delay the inevitability of accepting that this was _it _– that she was gone, that she was fucking _dead._

No.

_No._

Fuck this, fuck her. She shouldn't be this cruel. Why the fuck wasn't she answering her goddamned phone?

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*"_

"Goddammit, Emma! Answer the fucking phone!" He roared, anger seeping into his tone, tainting it with a harsh bitterness, and he furiously hit the 'end call' button before immediately dialing her again, regret and guilt stirring in his chest.

He shouldn't have shouted at her; it wasn't her fault. And he couldn't let that be the last message he left her, he just _couldn't_.

He'd been through the pain of losing a loved one several times before – when he lost his brother, when his first wife died – but _this… _their deaths didn't even hold a candle to the intensity of the agonizing burn and ache of Emma's loss. Nothing he'd been through before could have prepared him for this, and he refused to accept it, refused to believe that she was gone, like everyone he had ever loved was gone.

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*" _

"Emma, love, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean that. Call me. I'm begging you... _please_, answer the phone."

One more time, just one more time, and maybe this time she'll answer and spout apologies, giving excuses as to why she had them all so scared. And he'd be furious with her at first, enraged that she let this ruse go one for so long, cruelly letting him believed she'd _died, _but the moment he saw her again, he'd lavish her with love and attention, crushing her lips with the bruising force of his kiss, embracing her in his protective arms, squeezing her tightly against his chest and refusing to let go, wanting nothing more than to save her from the dangers of the world and keep her home, keep her _safe_.

"No… no, no, no, no," a voice sounded out, so utterly wrecked and broken that it was unrecognizable, a shuddering sob as it tore from his throat, an alien sound breaking free. It resounded in the horribly _empty _house, echoing his cries back in his ears, mocking him with his own pain and misery, tormenting him with his own fallibility and vulnerability.

A memory floated unbidden to the peripheries of his mind – a flash of her bright, lingering smile, a recollection of butterflies that stirred in his gut, the searing burn of her lips against his, the way her hand tangled in his hair, fingers frantic and desperate to feel him, the flush of his skin against hers.

"_Hi, you've reached Detective Emma Jones. Since I didn't answer, it probably means I've lost my phone, so leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I find it. *beep*"_

With a broken, strangled cry, he threw the phone across the room, and it connected with the wall with a sickening crack, the screen shattering as it fell to the floor. Running both hands over his face, he tried to rub away the flush that heated his cheeks, palming at his eyes as he attempted to snub the burn and _ache _behind his eyes, but it was all in vain, the last droplet falling into the overfilled, brimming cup of his emotion, and he fell over the edge, shoulders shaking with the intense sobs that wracked his body, mind going blank as he gave himself over to his misery, succumbing to the darkness of agony that washed over him.

Wave after wave of unrelenting devastation crashed over him, drowning him, and he fought to swim to the surface, to remember how to _breathe, _and he violently kicked and screamed against the darkness before another relentless assault overtook him, water filling his lungs and stealing his life away, destroying it under the weight of the impossible reality.

Another memory, a beautiful memory - he was seated across from her over a candlelit dinner, feigning a cool self-assurance he didn't feel as he agonized over the practiced speech, turning it over again and again in his mind, before finally putting voice to his request.

"_Emma, I guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."_

He'd been so nervous, an adorably shy schoolboy talking to his heart's desire, the girl he'd always admired from afar.

"_Will you end my suffering and marry me?"_

Her blue-green eyes twinkled with happiness, elation spreading itself across her face, excited smile tugging at her lips, and she nearly squeal of delight as she looked at him with endless love and adulation.

"_Yes. One thousand times yes."_


End file.
